


Forever

by ded_i_am_just_ded



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AKA The Many Deaths That Made Yuri Plistesky, Divided Souls AU, Eventual Otayuri, Immortal Otabek, M/M, Reincarnations, Slow Burn, You don't even know how slow this candle is gonna burn, mythological characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ded_i_am_just_ded/pseuds/ded_i_am_just_ded
Summary: A long time ago, he made a mistake, and it cost him everything he held dearly.  His home, his family, and thanks to that mistake, half of his soul.  Now, Otabek is left to wander the world, immortal, hunting down the vessel containing the other half of himself, hoping to make himself whole again.Make himself human again.It's a huge world, and the vessel only survives for 21 years at most before it dies and joins the reincarnation cycle.  And Otabek's only got a small, glowing stone and an unhelpful mythological creature to guide his way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So we're just going to blame Lecheesie for me posting this now. I hit 100 followers on [Tumblr](http://ded-i-am-just-ded.tumblr.com/)! Yaaaaaay!
> 
> This prologue is really just a set-up/teaser. These chapters are plotted and are _massive_. Like, I don't even know how I'm going to write these in a timely manner massive, haha. Already thinking I'm going to have to split them in twos, but I don't want to go any smaller than that.

_March 1st, 2001, Chicago, IL, USA 2:12pm_

He doesn’t notice the cold anymore. It spreads out around him like the map he’s pushing out over the table. He throws the napkin holder on one corner and the salt and pepper shakers over two others to keep it from closing. He pauses, looking around, ignoring the looks from people in the streets. A puff of breath from his lips and he grabs another pepper shaker from an adjacent table and throws it on the last corner.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt this buzz. Since his heart has beat so hard and his mind has actually had something to focus on. Decades, this time. Why are the stretches getting longer? If he fails again... His brown eyes fly around, as if his surroundings could give him anything. People are staring. He shakes off his old, fur-lined leather jacket and lets it hit the ground with a solid noise and pushes his cold fingers into the collar of his shirt.

He draws out the silver chain and holds the medallion on it up to the light. Inside an intricate twist of silver is a single, colorless, perfectly round stone. He frowns at it and waits. When nothing happens, he sighs and pulls the whole chain over his head, holding the stone in one hand and the chain in the other. He looks down at the map and closes his eyes.

_Find it._ He wishes desperately, then holds his hand out, _It’s been enough. Haven’t I done enough? Given enough? What more can I do? Please. Let this time be the last time. Help me._ His hand grows warm, then hot, and he has to drop the stone. He feels the chain swing wildly.

And then not so wildly. It spirals, circles, then begins to drag in a specific direction. He finally opens his eyes and watches it. The stone itself is glowing, a pale pulse of blue-green, just barely. It’s never done such a muddled shade before, he ponders, only briefly. He licks his lips and moves his hand, following the direction of the swing. The pulse grows ever so slightly. He’d hoped it would keep him in North America, but it swings wide, heading East. He moves, over Europe, but it keeps going, the glow only slightly improving. A false hope makes him move over what is now Kazakhstan. What had once been home, lifetimes upon lifetimes ago. But the pendant doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t react like it should. It swings northwest, instead.

Russia.

It glows brighter, a brilliant ocean-tone, and slows, draws lazy circles between Moscow and St. Petersburg. Well, he supposes, he hasn’t been to Russia in a few decades. It’s an awful large amount of space to cover, and he has a lot to do.

His Nokia 3390 goes off in his pocket, interrupting his thoughts, and brings the sounds of the day sharply back into focus. The front door to the restaurant opens and a waiter frowns at him, so he tucks the necklace away in his pocket and nods at the man, before he pulls the phone out and wearily hits the answer button on it, tucking it between his ear and shoulder.

“ _You’ve found it?_ ”

“Book me a flight. St. Petersburg.” He gathers up the map, folding it carefully, avoiding looking at the waiter who has crossed his arms and taps his foot. He picks up his jacket and pulls it on then tucks the map away.

“ _Please Leo. Thank you, Leo. You’re so awesome, Leo._ ”

He hangs up the phone without a response and shoves it back his pocket. There is no time. There is too much time. At most, he has 21 years. And if he has learned anything in the last 121 years, that has never been certain.


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As the world did, everything begins in fire._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS STORY IS GOING TO BE EXHAUSTING. 
> 
> Holy hell, I have to do _soooo_ much research, you guys have no idea. Anyway, here's chapter one, let's get this baby started.
> 
> Please remember, if I get something wrong, this is a work of fiction. Also, please let me know.
> 
> Mobile formatting of chapters is _horrible_. I will probably come back later and reupload just to fix it all.

**ONE**

 

_ As the world did, everything begins in fire. _

 

*

 

_ October 31st, 1880, 15 miles from the outskirts of Verniy (later Almaty) _

 

The house smells like a large fire and heavy smoke.  It pulls him up from sleep and shoves him off his bedroll before he’s really aware he’s moving.  There’s sleep-sand in the corners of his eyes as he’s pulling on a shirt, and the sudden realization that he’s alone in the bedroom.  Where is the rest of his family?  If the house is on fire, shouldn’t they have woken him up?

 

A sound, from another room, stills him.  A peal of laughter, and it sounds like his younger sister, Munira, and his mother scolding her quietly.  Tension releases and he feels better about taking the time to pull on leggings and pants before going to see what the smell is about.  When he pulls open the bedroom door, he’s greeted with choking smoke and sunshine from open windows and doors.

 

His mother, a small, round woman with dark hair tucked up in a tight bun against her head and shining marble eyes is at the front door, fanning smoke out with a piece of cloth.  She turns when she hears him cough, and greets him with her smile, dimples pressed into her cheeks, “Good morning, балам, did you sleep well?”

 

“Until I thought the house was burning down.  What are you doing?”  He waves smoke away from his face, like it will actually help, then moves to see what is going on with his sister.  She’s standing over the fireplace, looking disappointed in herself.  

 

She’s pulling what looks like a burnt brique from the pit with a long wooden slat and lets it all drop to the floor when it’s clear of the embers, “I was making you breakfast for your birthday.  It didn’t go too well, I’m sorry, Otabek.”  She finally looks up at him with her slate-colored eyes and relaxes when she sees the laughter on his face.

 

“Well, we always knew you weren’t a good cook, Muni.”  He steps around it to ruffle her hair and wrap an arm around her affectionately, “But thank you for the attempt.”

 

Their mother clicks her tongue at both of them, then crosses the room, “Munira, go fetch some apples, I’ll make something else for you both.  Beshka, throw that outside, then sit down and don’t move.”

 

Otabek laughs, using a cloth to pick up the brick, still hot to the touch through the thick fabric, and follows his sister out into the crisp morning air.  She casts a quick wave at him then takes off down the path towards the orchards, Otabek watches her until he can’t see her anymore, then ducks back into the house, following his mother’s instructions to sit at the kitchen table.  The elder moves around the room quickly, the house is her domain and her confidence is in every corner of it.  Otabek knows she works hard for everything they have; they all do, ever since his father passed away three years ago.

 

His elder brothers, Ravil and Alibek, are married with their own families, and living in other houses close by, but they continue to maintain the orchard, helping Mother with the things she simply cannot do.  Otabek has had no interest in marriage, there are no local families who he would want to marry into to help the family out, and with his brothers’ families, he doesn’t really need to marry.  His interests lie elsewhere anyway; books, horses, education, travel and trade.  You can’t do the last two if you have small mouths to feed and tiny hands to hold you down.

 

Mother sets a cloth-wrapped package down in front of him, and he blinks, looks up at her, but she’s already moving away.  Sometimes, there’s no words needed between the two of them, so he reaches and carefully undoes the wrapping, his breath catching in his throat when he discovers the book inside.  It’s dark-red leather, with finely-painted gold lines on the edges, barely bigger than the palm of his hand.  When he flips through the pages they’re all blank, he looks up at his mother with a confused expression.

 

She returns to the table and sets out plates, then deposits leftovers from the night before into them.  Only after she's satisfied does she sit across from him and smiles, “I thought you could use it when you're gone.  Maybe bring us back some stories?”

 

“It must have cost a fortune.”  He turns it over and over in his hands, as if it held secrets to the universe, “You shouldn't have.”

 

Mother's hand reaches out and covers one of his own, “Don't worry about it, балам, Allah will provide, as he always has.  Besides, Alibek is the one who bought it, but he didn't want me to tell you that.”  Otabek met his mother's secretive grin with his own.  Running footsteps echo outside and the elder takes it as a signal to rise, “Tell us a story, Otabek.  Write us something that spans beyond this tiny life.”

 

○●○●○●○

 

_ March 5th, 2001, St Petersburg, Russia, 3:47pm _

 

The plane lands in the middle of a storm, Otabek feels like it's always cloudy in Russia.  Maybe it's because of his history, but it's hard to recall what the sun could possibly look like when mixed with sound of the Russian language in his ears.  He's out of practice, but he recalls enough to get through customs with his false papers without suspicion.  He always has faith in Leo’s work, but he knows it's his own acting skills that keep him from being caught.  Leo wouldn't care anyway, what's a few years in a Russian prison?

 

His pulse is in his ears as he pauses outside the arrivals terminal to gather himself.  It's been a long time since he's been able to feel like this, a long time since there was any hope to hold onto.  His hand unconsciously goes to the medallion hiding under his shirt and tugs at it. He feels like it's burning him, but he knows it's an illusion, that the pulse is inside of himself, his empty half crying out to be complete again.

 

His phone sounds off as soon as he turns it on, almost startling him into dropping it.  It’s a number he doesn’t recognize, but no one knows this phone other than Leo, so he answers it and before he can get a word in, Leo is already talking; “ _ Are you ready?  Where are you?  I’ve got a car waiting outside of the luggage claim. _ ”

 

Otabek draws to a stop, “You’re here.” It’s not a question.

 

“ _ Of course!  You realize how long it’s been since you’ve had a chance?  We need to get on top of this shit as fast as possible.  You’re gonna need all the help you can get. _ ”  Not that Leo has ever been any help, “ _ Now hurry your ass up, they won’t let me idle for long. _ ”

 

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”  He hangs up without any warning and tucks the phone away.  He hasn’t seen Leo in a long time, knowing he’s here to help him this time is a little comforting.  If he’s here then there’s a chance.  He’s been grasping at straws for so long, though, he has forgotten if this is what hope feels like.

 

○●○●○●○

 

_ November 12th, 1880, Verniy  _

 

He’s been to Verniy several times, with his brothers, but never on his own before.  It’s a surprisingly busy place, for being relatively newly established, slat-wood buildings forming a city of sorts around Fort Verny, divided into sectors.  Otabek’s destination is the market district, a long row of one-story buildings, lined with seller’s stalls and a lot of people and noise.  He holds tightly to his pack, weary of anyone getting too close and uncomfortable even when it’s a simple brush along his side due to space constraints.

 

He follows a memory from months ago, when Ravil had brought him to the district last, until he spots the seller with the brilliant red overhang that he’s been looking for.  Knowing his destination is in sight, lights a fire in his stomach and narrows his vision until he almost runs over an old man, curled over a cane, moving much slower than the flow of people.  As it is, he has to throw an arm out to rebalance himself before he can step on the man’s toes.

 

The old man pauses, turns to look at him and grins, displaying a mouth void of many teeth behind his salt-and-pepper beard.  Otabek nods an apology to him, and tries to step around.  The old man is suddenly much faster, stepping in his way again, turning to face him completely.  He says something in a language that isn’t Kazakh, it has an upward inflection at the end, so Otabek assumes it’s a question.

 

Otabek shakes his head and apologizes, “I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand.”

 

The old man gives him a once over, leans heavily on his cane, then speaks in broken Russian, “You.  You soul, it is new.”  He points a boney finger at Otabek, it tremors lightly, “Do not fall for the old tricks.  Peri will take advantage of your scent.  Especially here.”  The finger waves, then drops.  The old man's eyes glass over, then he's turning away, Otabek hears him mutter, “Here.  Here.” and then he's back to the other language, moving away. 

 

Peri?  Like the being from stories?  Otabek scoffs, readjusts his pack, and looks towards the stall he'd been heading to originally.  There's a tall, pale skinny man with black hair calling out to the crowds, occasionally holding up and item.  He cycles through several languages in the time it takes Otabek to cross the stream of people till him.  He sees the blink of recognition and the man steps off a platform, still towering over Otabek. 

 

“Young Altin?  You're a day early,”  The man scratches his cheek, “But we're glad you are here.  Your brother keeps telling me you're eager to learn, which is good.  My sister, Mila, will be happy to entertain you today.”

 

Otabek smiles and nods, “Thanks, Georgi.  I'm excited to get started.”  He feels like he's being watched, when he looks around, though, he doesn't see anyone watching him. 

 

Georgi gestures behind himself and let's Otabek into the building behind the stall.  It's warm inside, the first room is tiny, barely room for two chairs, a small table, and what look like storage shelves along all of the walls.  There's more colorful fabrics covering the walls, like they are trying to block out drafts.  There's another door, which he knocks on before pushing on it.  It opens to a much larger room, that looks similar to his family's living space, with a bit more luxury.  There's a large rug covering most of the floor, a table and chairs near a fireplace and a small kitchen along the back wall, with a tiny window staring into the back alley, letting in sunlight.  

 

There's another door on the right wall, that creaks open as he closes the door behind himself, and a woman with dark red hair emerges, looking rushed.  She pauses when she sees him, and a wide grin breaks across her face, “Otabek?  So good to see you!  I'm Mila, if you don't remember me.  Come in, come in, I'll start some tea.”

 

The warm welcome relaxes some nerves, and he sets his bag beside him as he sinks into a chair by the table and watches the woman rush around the kitchen area. 

 

“I'm sorry, I'd offer you some lunch, but I didn't know you were coming today.  Is it really the 13th?  How time just flies.”

 

“No,” he finally breaks in, “It's the 12th, I'm early.  I just couldn't wait any longer and the trip was faster than I'd anticipated.”  The woman grins at him and sets a beautifully painted tea cup in front of him.  It clashes with its delicacy against the rough state of the table, and even worse with his calloused hand.  He looks away from it, “I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience.”

 

“Of course not!”  She sinks into another chair and sighs, a smile still on the edges of her mouth, “Ravil said you'd be excited to learn.  I see he spoke the truth.”  Otabek can only nod, “Do you speak anything besides Russian?”

 

“Just my tribe’s Kazakh* dialect.”  He shrugs, watching the cup carefully as he lifts out for a drink. 

 

Mila nods, murmurs something he doesn't catch, “Then we'll have some language lessons some times.  Traders who travel should know at least the basics of the trade in other common languages.”

 

Otabek smiles at that, “I'll do anything that can help me get out and see the world.”

 

“That's the spirit.”  She drinks her tea down in one go.  Very much not the ladylike way he'd figured shed be.  She rises again and is still talking, “Would you like to rest today?  Or shall we get started early?”

 

He decides he likes her very much.

 

○●○●○●○

 

_ March 5th, 2001, St Petersburg, Russia, 3:58pm _

 

Leo has indeed obtained a car.  And it's nothing subtle, when Otabek emerges from the airport.  He'd be able to find brunette with his eyes closed, but the neon yellow SUV is anything but subtle.  He issues a deep sigh as he climbs in. 

 

“Hey, my man!  What do you think?”  Leo pats the dashboard, “Isn't she beautiful?”

 

“Did you pay for it?”  Otabek sets his bag on the floor between his legs. 

 

Leo laughs and throws him a wink, “I used my charisma and charm.”  When Otabek just stares at him, the smile drops, “Of course I paid them.  With your money.”

 

Otabek would protest, but he knows there's no point.  The concept of money is hard for Leo to grasp, even after all these years.  Otabek is actually kind of impressed he didn't just steal the car.

 

Leo doesn't ask where to go, he revs the engine and peels out of the parking spot.  Otabek prays to his mother to keep them from crashing before the airport is out of site.

 

Leo knows his ritual, shuts his mouth up and just drives through the city.  Otabek closes his eyes for a lot of it, and tries to focus.  He's not really sure what he's looking for to tell him where to go.  He just knows he's looking for a  infant.  

 

When the burn in his chest doesn't change, he eventually opens his eyes and tells Leo to pull into the next gas station.  They're going to need a map, he imagines a city like St Petersburg probably has a lot of hospitals.

 

○●○●○●○

 

_ November 27th, 1880, Verniy  _

 

They've started to fall into a routine; in the early morning Otabek does laundry with Mila and begins to learn English.  Mid-morning he'd move to the store front with Georgi, where he gets quick lessons in fabrics and trade in between the older man's deals with customers, as well as stories about the places the siblings had been when Georgi starts to go off-topic.  The markets die down in mid-afternoon, when Mila appears with a small lunch for both of them and steals Otabek away again for more lessons.  

 

Otabek is picking English up fast, Mila keeps his hands occupied with learning how to dye fabrics or manual labor that keeps the rickety building they call both work and home from falling down.  As the sun beings to vanish and torches light the merchant quarter, both siblings take the time to walk him around and introduce him to others in the area.

 

It has begun to get colder, when the 27th rolls around, Otabek is sure snow will fall soon.  He finishes his work for the day with Georgi, shoving the last bolt of brilliant blue fabric into its storage spot in the tiny front room when Mila appears, looking exhausted, “Otabek, I need a favor.”

 

She holds out a closed fist towards him and he automatically puts his palm out to accept.  She drops several coins into his hand and flashes one of her brilliant smiles, “I need more bread, will you go down to Nazer’s stall-- you remember Nazer?  Go down to his stall and buy a loaf of whatever he has left.  Mention me and he'll barter his price down with you.”

 

Otabek nods, tucks the coins away, “I can do that.  Anything else?”

 

Mila pauses to think, then shakes her head, “That's a--Oh!  Georgi hasn't come in yet, if he's out there talking to Anya again, put a stop to it.  She's betrothed to someone, he needs to stop before he gets hurt.  Again.”

 

They share a small smile, then Mila waves her hand at him and heads back towards the inside of the house, “Get going, before it gets too dark.  Supper will be ready when you're back.”

 

Otabek waits until the door closes to head out.  He doesn't see Georgi lingering by the stall or anywhere nearby, but that's not surprising; the man knows a lot of people and, from what he's heard, has never feared being social.  Otabek heads towards the sunset, Nazer’s stall towards the end of their block.  It has a torch lit nearby and casts strange shadows over the stall.  

 

It's not a living quarters, Nazer closes up and goes home whenever he runs out of bread or buyers stop coming.  It's one-story and Otabek knows the back is where he makes all his pastries.  The man is middle aged, with midnight black hair and a full beard that falls down to his portly stomach.  

 

He greets Otabek with a large smile, flashing brilliant white teeth, “What brings you out this late, my boy?”  He leans on his empty table, the wood creaking under the weight. 

 

“Mila asked if you had any bread, but you're looking a bit empty.”  Otabek gestures to the table.

 

Nazer laughs, “I have a few left in the back, let me get one and we'll talk price.”

 

“Alright, be nice to me.”  They trade grins, then the man vanishes.  

 

Otabek leans against the table and looks around.  The streets are mostly vacant, but there's soldiers from the fort a few blocks down, moving down the street.  People step out of their way, trying not to draw attention to themselves.  Otabek has never been close to the fort and soldiers tend not to come to the market if they can help it, so it's unsettling to see the wall of uniforms heading towards him.

 

Nazer reappears, and begins to speak, but cuts himself off and eyes the soldiers himself, stepping back into the shadows of his stall to hide the bread.  Otabek looks confused, but there's a large crash that draws his attention.  The soldiers have stopped at a stall a little more than a block away.  The tables in front of it are knocked over, items scattered across the ground.  One of the soldiers has stepped out of their group and is speaking to someone hidden behind the walls of the small building, his face contorted in anger.

 

Georgi appears from the space behind the tables, his own expression mirroring the soldier, his mouth running as he gestures to the mess, probably an angry complaint.  Otabek glances at Nazer, who shakes his head, “Don’t interfere.  Georgi needs to accept the truth.”

 

Otabek frowns, but when the soldier shoves Georgi’s shoulder, he can’t stay still anymore and breaks away from Nazer’s stall, ignoring his name being called, and heads for the confrontation.  He gets there just as Georgi returns the shove and is met with a fist to his jaw that sends him reeling to the ground.  Otabek is outnumbered and much shorter than these soldiers, but he steps between the two opponents and tries to make himself appear at least a little intimidating.

 

“That’s enough.”  He keeps his eyes on the soldier as he senses Georgi pushing himself back to his feet, “You’ve done enough damage, haven’t you?”

 

The soldier has dark brown eyes that narrow in on Otabek, sizing him up, then scoffing, his stance relaxing as he glances at the soldiers waiting on him, “Look at this, boys, he’s gotten himself a bodyguard.”  He drags his eyes back to Otabek, “Watch yourself, kid, don’t get yourself involved in things you don’t understand.”

 

“I understand enough.”

 

That caused the soldier to issue a sharp bark of laughter, “Do you?  Are you sure about that?”  He looks past him to Georgi, who puts a hand on Otabek’s shoulder in a pleading gesture to stand down, “And you.  Stay away from her if you know what’s good for you.”  He points a finger at him, then moves it between the two of them, “Both of you had better watch your backs.”

 

The soldier returns to his group and they continue their walk down the street.  Otabek doesn’t move until they’ve passed Nazer’s stall without issues.  Only then, does he move to help Georgi begin to clean up the mess, “What was that about?”  

 

Georgi doesn’t answer at first, and Otabek has to look over to him to see his face red and his expression looking like he wants to cry.  Otabek straightens the table, then steps in front of where Georgi is knelt down, “Georgi.”

 

It breaks Georgi’s thoughts from where ever they had been, and he looks up at Otabek before rising with a sigh, “Let’s just clean this up, I’ll tell you later.  Not here.”

 

Georgi doesn’t have to say anything, though, when Otabek is putting items behind the table and spots the door to the building behind the stall slotted open and a woman with dark brown hair peeking out.  As soon as she realizes she’s been caught, she shuts the door quickly.  Otabek sighs, that must be the Anya he was warned about.

 

Georgi leaves him without a word, and Otabek barely remembers to buy the bread before he follows Georgi home.

 

○●○●○●○

 

_ March 7th, 2001, St Petersburg, Russia, 11:26am _

 

It would be frustrating, if he hadn’t been through this same routine for the past few centuries.  There’s still an edge of frustration that Otabek can hear in his voice every time he replies to Leo, but he can’t shake the feeling that he is  _ so _ close, but at the same time never at the right place.  They’ve been to every hospital and clinic in St Petersburg, and he hasn’t felt the pull.  They’ve driven through neighborhoods and slept in between, and there has been  _ nothing _ .  So, either his piece aren’t here or he’s in the wrong place.  The pendulum had gone between here and Moscow, but the thought of going there just seems  _ wrong _ .

 

Everything feels wrong.  It always does, though.  It’s an itch under his skin that he can’t scratch.  It’s a void in his being he can’t fill.  He only has Leo, only has himself, and the two of them are horrible at being companions.  Otabek doesn’t speak, Leo speaks all. the. Time.  Otabek remembers, sort of, what it is like to be human, Otabek can adjust.  Leo has never been human, time flows for him in a different direction, he can fade in and out of existence as-needed.  They each have different goals, both of which can be completed, if only…

 

Leo shakes his head as he emerges from the hostel they’ve been staying at, his expression disappointed.  Otabek is used to being turned away, he’s not afraid of sleeping in the vehicle, it’s just a matter of finding a secluded space.  Leo climbs in, looking defeated, “They’re booked out for the week.  We can try another?”

 

“Just drive.  It’s still early.”  Leo turns on the engine, revs it a few times before he pulls out of their parking spot.  Otabek watches signs that fly by, his hand unconsciously going to the lump under his collar.  The necklace is like a worry-stone, sometimes.  It’s something solid he can hold onto, sometimes it’s a comfort, other times it’s a burden, all the time it means the same; he’s still here and there’s nothing he can do until he fixes himself.

 

He’s been here before, the streets look familiar, but at the same time, it’s been a long time, and everything has changed.  The layout is all still there, but not the buildings he’d known.  Otabek focuses on remembering directions, tries to recall which stores had been where, how tall the house had been on that corner.  But it’s been a long, long time.

 

They pull to a stop at a light ands Otabek just happens to glance out.  It's a childcare center and there are a lot of small children playing in the yard.  He smiles to himself and watches them while they wait for the light.  There's a small group of girls that take off across the yard. 

 

One of them has auburn hair, something about her lights a spark in him.  She crashes into the fence and looks up, laughing.  Brilliant blue eyes seem to light up the area around her, just as Leo pulls away.  Otabek leans to keep her in his sight as long as possible.

 

“Something wrong?”  Leo’s voice draws him back. 

 

Something in him knows.  It was her.  It's almost comforting, that she's here, maybe in 16 or so years, they'll meet again and he can apologize.  He twists to face forward again, adjusting his seatbelt, “No, everything is fine.”

 

_ Mila is here.  I have to be in the right place. _  He hides a smile behind his fist and looks out at the scenery again.  It starts snowing, and for the first time in a long time, everything seems to be falling into place.

 

○●○●○●○

 

_ December 18th, 1880, Verniy  _

 

It's like clockwork, Otabek realizes quickly.  Georgi vanishes once a week, then comes home late, sometimes looking like he's floating, other times like he's crushed.  He wonders if Georgi realizes what he's doing is wrong and will come back to haunt him.

 

It happens faster than Otabek had been counting on.  He's finishing putting bolts away when there's the sound of cracking wood, followed by a voice, “Come out, you fool!  I know you're there!”  Otabek instantly recognizes the voice of the soldier from the earlier confrontation.

 

Otabek emerges, wiping his hands on a towel, “He's not here.”  It's probably the wrong thing to say.  The soldier has a knife dug into the table top, he looks Otabek over, makes a dismissive nose, and pulls it out of the wood, making sure it takes a chunk of the table with.

 

Something flashes in the evening light, like a beacon around the soldier's neck.  Otabek thinks it's a warning from gods he doesn't believe in, so he sets the towel down and follows.  They go to Anya’s stall and the man moves around the table and pushes his way into the building without invite.

 

Otabek waits, expecting the soldier to throw Georgi out into the street.  But it's not what happens.  Screams erupt from inside the building, not angry, but terrified.

 

Otabek’s feet move before his brain catches up, but just inside the doorway they halt abruptly.  Anya is still screaming, a hand on her neck the other waving wildly.  The soldier is deeper in the room, he has Georgi pinned to the wall, speaking to him in a low voice.

 

“Let him go!”  Otabek needs to get control over the situation, but he's still missing something.  

 

The soldier laughs, tosses his head back to cast him a look, “Get out of here, boy.  This has nothing to do with you.”  The hand on Georgi’s neck tightens, Georgi’s face starting to pale, “I warned you to stay away.”  

 

Otabek moves into the room, edging along the wall, Anya’s screams have died and she gasps for air, watching the men.  Otabek reaches an arm out to the soldier, “He's not worth the fight, is he?  Do you see what this is doing to Anya?”

 

“He shouldn't have interfered.”  Georgi's going limp in the man's hand.  Something flashes in the lights between them, Otabek looks down and sees the hilt of the knife.  It's angled up, and the blade is pushed into Georgi’s chest.  Otabek realizes that's what he's been missing, the smell in the air of blood.

 

He yells, charges the soldier and knocks him away.  Georgi crumples to the floor and doesn't move.  The soldier's eyes are wide and wild when Otabek looks up at him.

 

“You should not have interfered!”  He points a finger at Otabek, “This burden has been mine for so long!  I've been so close so many times!”  He grabs at something under his outer jacket and holds up a charm on the end of a necklace.  It's glowing brilliant red, lighting up the entire room, “Both of you!  Do not interfere again!”

 

The soldier lets the necklace fall against his chest again and grabs Anya’s wrist, pulling her to him, “I've finally found you again.  We'll do this right, this time, my lost soul.”

 

His free arm moves, Anya stills, eyes wide in shock.  A sharp, gurgling sound issues from her mouth.  She collapses against the soldier, and he releases his grip to brush her cheek.  He's murmuring something in another language to her.

 

“Stop!”  Otabek charges again, like there's something he can do.  A blade appears as the soldier lets Anya fall to the floor, it's covered in blood.  Otabek can't block it when it sinks into his arm.  He screams, and pushes the soldier into the wall, “Are you insane?!”  His arm is on fire, but he's running on pure adrenaline.

 

The soldier tips his head back and laughs, “You shouldn't have come here, boy.  You know  _ nothing _ .”  He retrieves the necklace, but it's not glowing anymore, his eyes lose some of their light, “Lost, again.  I had her and you  _ ruined _ it.”

 

“What are you talking about?  You murdered her!  And Georgi!  Why?”

 

The soldier meets his angry gaze with a look of defeat, “One day, you'll understand.”  He laughs, lifelessly, “But curse you, as I am.  Wander, as I have.  Be destroyed, as I have been.  Run the race you'll never win.  May you lose everything you hold dear, and may you never find peace, until I have.”

 

A finger touches his chest, draws Otabek's gaze downward.  It pushes, “I'll gift you this burden, boy.  Punishment, for your good deeds.  May you stray for 100 years, and lose everything along the way.”

 

The stone on the soldier's neck glows white.  And then Otabek feels like he's been punched in the chest, feels his body fly backwards without moving.  

 

Then, it feels like fire, ripping through him.  He feels like he's tearing apart.  He can't scream.  The man smiles, but it still looks sad.  He moves Otabek like he weighs nothing, lowers him to his knees, then lays him on the ground.  It does nothing for the pain.

 

He rips the knife from Otabek's arm, and Otabek blacks out.

 

○●○●○●○

 

_ December 18th, 2001, St Petersburg, Russia, 3:23am _

 

His body reminds him it's been another year.  It wakes him with dreams of fire, and leaves him struggling against the sheets.  When he comes to his senses, he's alone.  The clock ticks moments away, he focuses on the sound of the second hand moving to ground himself.

 

He'd rented a tiny apartment, above a laundromat, when they realized they were going to be in Russia for a while.  It only has a bedroom, bathroom and a living room with minor kitchenette accessories along one wall.  It's enough, it's a place to return to when the day has been a failure.

 

The sound of his mother's voice echoes in his ears, so he gets up, and goes to the living room, retrieving the small bag from the convenience store down the street.  He spills the contents on the bed, his juice almost rolling off, but caught last second.  The other item is a local map.

 

Otabek spreads it out, drawing fingers along major street lines.  Names blur together, words he knows and those he doesn't, until he's in a sort of trance.  He fumbles with his necklace, still pulsing green, ever so softly.  He lets it drop over the map and says a quiet prayer.

 

Once it settles, it doesn't move again.

 

Otabek doesn't know what that means, because he still hurts, still feels like he's on the right place.  But the stone gives nothing.  He throws it, hears it hit the far wall and bounce to the ground.

 

When he lays back down in his pillows, it's back, a cold reminder around his neck.  A price he has always had to pay.

 

○●○●○●○

 

_ December 19th, 1880, Verniy, 2:07am _

 

The world crumbles, drags him back to reality.  His arm is a dull ache, and he rolls onto his stomach, groaning.  He realizes he's not alone.  There's a small creature that's moving through the room.  It looks human, but it's only about half a meter tall.  It's looking around, hands shoved in pockets of torn pants.  It has human facial features, cheekbones arched a little higher, shaggy brown hair.

 

Otabek is sure he's hallucinating when the being walks over to him and whistles.  It’s quieter than a human, but the figure says, “What a sorry state you're in.  Shame.”  It shrugs, “Well?  Get up, we don't have all eternity.  They'll be coming soon and you probably don't want to be here when they do.”

 

“They?”  But Otabek pushes himself up and sees what the creature is talking about.  Anya’s building is destroyed.  There's blood and broken furniture everywhere.  Worse, there’s two bodies in the room and a single blade still visible in Georgi’s chest.

 

He needs to get out before it's all discovered.  Three people in a building and only one is alive, there's only one possible conclusion to come to.  He pushes himself to his feet, feels something sway and hit his chest.  He looks down and sees a need klance, like the soldier's.  He wraps a hand around it and closes his eyes, trying to think.

 

The creature speaks again, “It's time to go, you can figure shit out later.”

 

Otabek steps over Anya and flees.

 

He realizes he's leaving a trail behind him, so he hesitates at the house.  His home for only a few months, but long enough to grow attached.  He can't go inside, he realizes.  He won't drag Mila into this.  So he keeps walking.   

It's still early, so there's no movement, no light other than the moon.  At the end of the road, he goes left, and finds the stables.  There's a golden brown Kazakh horse near the door.  She lets him throw a bridal and a blanket on her.  

 

He realizes his arm doesn't hurt when he pulls himself onto her back.  When he looks, his shirt is torn, but there's no wound inside.  He touches the red skin where it should have been, “What the--?”

 

“Less questions, more movement!”  He jolts and realizes the creature has reappeared, and has  _ wings _ .   He wonders if he's actually dead.

 

The horse makes a noise and heads out on her own.  He lets her have control to the edge of town, then turns her towards the mountains.

 

Turns her towards home. 

 

○●○●○●○

 

_ December 19th, 1880, 14 miles from Verniy, 5:42am _

 

He breaks the crest of a familiar hill, he's so close he can taste it.  The small creature has been silent, riding on the horses butt or flying away and back again, but now it's draped over his shoulder.

 

“Do you have a name?”  Otabek manages to relax his guard enough, because he can smell the apple trees only a few hills away.

 

The creature flicks his wings and nods, “Of course, do you?”

 

Otabek tries to shoot the creature a look, “Otabek Altin.  What is yours?”

 

“Leo.”  The being studies his hands like he's bored of the questions already, “Don't forget it, I get the feeling I'm going to be stuck with you awhile.”

 

“What do you mean?  What are you?  What's going on?”

 

Leo pushes off his shoulder to fly into the air ahead of him, moving with the horse's pace, “I'm a Peri, what are you?”  He grins, doesn't wait for an answer, “I'm here to help, I guess?”

 

“Help?”

 

The creature raises a tiny eyebrow and crosses his arms, “You haven't figured it out yet?  Not very bright, are you?”  He grins, “Good thing I'm here, then.”  He waves his arms around, “Let's recap, shall we?  Mysterious stranger, you see him do something bad, he decides to spare you…kind of.  Do you remember what he said?”

 

“ _ May you stray for 100 years, _ ” he murmurs.  His stomach twists, unravels a sense that something is wrong.  The wind shifts and he smells something other than apples.  He spurs the horse to move faster.

 

“I'm sorry, kid.  Things are going to get worse before they get better.”

 

The creature’s words are like an omen, when he crests the last hill.  The orchard is on fire, and the wind sounds like screams.

 

The horse paces nervously when he draws to a stop at the peak of the hill and looks across the land.  The house is on fire, as well.  There's no sign of his mother, his sister.  He hopes they're not inside.

 

He realizes he isn't panicking, isn't scared, isn't mourning.  He realizes he feels nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *There were soooooo many languages spoken at the time, for my sanity, I'm sticking with Kazakh. 
> 
> Thank you for stopping by, please let me know what you think! ❤


End file.
